


A Man and His Scarf

by sherlockholmes-notanamateur (loki_godofmischiefandlies)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post Reichenbach, it's a bit early but it's sort of a christmas fic, prompt, sugary sweet cotton candy FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loki_godofmischiefandlies/pseuds/sherlockholmes-notanamateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knits Sherlock a new scarf after Sherlock loses his on a case. Inspired by john--watson221b on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man and His Scarf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [john--watson221b (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=john--watson221b+%28tumblr%29).



The case had been one of the longer ones, chasing a serial murderer across London and eventually most of England. It had left John and Sherlock miserable, wet, and exhausted by the end of it. The killer had leapt headlong into the Thames, and Sherlock had jumped in after him without a second thought. The man had struggled with Sherlock, trying desperately to first drown him and then strangle him with his scarf. Sherlock managed to wriggle free by diving under the water, and the killer had let go of the scarf, allowing it to be swept down river. Finally, John jumped in after Sherlock and the killer and helped the detective drag the man ashore so that he could be cuffed by Lestrade.

Neither man noticed the missing scarf until the next day, when Sherlock decided to check the clothes drying on the rack beside the fireplace.

“John?” he called. John came padding out of the bathroom in a pair of black track pants, toweling his hair dry.

“Yeah Sherlock?” he asked, tossing the towel onto his chair so that he could pull on his grey tee.

“Where’s my scarf?” Sherlock questioned, his face puzzled. John wrestled his still damp arms through the sleeves of the tee and raised his eyebrows.

“Didn’t you put it on the rack?” John nodded to the drying clothes.

“I thought I did, but apparently not.” Sherlock frowned.

“Hold on, didn’t Carson have it?” John asked, noticing the faint bruising along Sherlock’s neck.

“Yes he di…he let it go in the river.” Sherlock said quietly. John’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ of understanding. “My gran gave me that scarf…she was um…she was really the only person who ever treated me like I was normal until you.” Sherlock elaborated, a crushed look forming on his face. Something tugged at John’s gut, and he patted Sherlock on the shoulder awkwardly.

“I’m sorry Sherlock.” John sighed before taking his towel upstairs to put in the dirty laundry.

Over the next several days, it became increasingly obvious to John that Sherlock was almost incomplete without his scarf. The high collar of his coat didn’t have the same mysterious effect, and the lack of the splash of blue that ordinarily added color to Sherlock’s look and made his eyes stand out made Sherlock look dark in dress and pale in complexion. Sherlock’s hands often flew towards his neck when they returned to the flat, but fell with a frown as he remembered that his scarf was no longer there. It wasn’t until John stopped in to ask Mrs. Hudson about whether or not she had gotten her faucet fixed that he got an idea. Mrs. Hudson had been sitting at her kitchen table knitting a hat for her niece, and John’s eyes widened.

“Um, Mrs. Hudson, this is going to be an odd question but uh…d’you think you could teach me how to knit?” John asked, his face turning a light shade of pink. Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows but then smiled knowingly.

“Sherlock’s missing his scarf, isn’t he?” she asked.

“A bit, yeah. And he just…he looks so _lost_ without the stupid thing. His grandmother gave it to him, so it wouldn’t be right to just _buy_ a scarf to replace it. I thought maybe…maybe one that was handmade might be a nice replacement though.” John explained, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Of course. Why don’t you pop by next time Sherlock goes off on one of his smaller cases and I can teach you the basics?” Mrs. Hudson suggested, her eyes sparkling with happiness at the thought of someone who actually cared about Sherlock as much, if not more, than she did.

Over the course of the next several weeks, John spent his Sherlock-free moments in Mrs. Hudson’s flat, learning how to knit. At first he fumbled with the needles, tangled the stitches, and grew frustrated overall.

“John, it requires slow, steady movements…think of it like surgery love.” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly after John ruined yet another chain of stitching. His deep blue eyes widened, and he grinned.

“That’s brilliant Mrs. Hudson!” he beamed. From then on, he didn’t tangle the stitches, and after a few more days his knitting was reaching the same incredible quality as Mrs. Hudson’s.

After John learned how to knit, he found himself in the craft store searching for appropriate yarn for Sherlock’s new scarf. Eventually his hands fell on a skein of deep blue yarn. It was incredibly soft to the touch, and the same mysterious blue-grey color as Sherlock’s old scarf. John grinned broadly, and then noticed a skein of charcoal grey yarn sitting beside it. He stared at the two side by side with pursed lips before quickly grabbing both of them and making his purchase.

Winter came, and Sherlock grew more irritable by the day. He refused to buy a new scarf, much to John’s chagrin. John worked diligently, knitting more and more each night. Sherlock didn’t grow suspicious, or if he did, he didn’t show it.

Finally, the moment of truth came. Sherlock was in a sour mood, unhappy about the fact that yet again John insisted on having a Christmas party.

“Cheer up Sherlock, it’s Christmas!” John said, bumping Sherlock with his elbow as he walked by the desk to place the carefully wrapped box containing Sherlock’s scarf beneath the tree. John tried not to look too pleased when he saw another box under the tree, the label reading _To John, from Sherlock_ in Sherlock’s spidery handwriting. Of course, there were also boxes for Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft, and even Anderson and Donovan from Sherlock, but John’s was obviously wrapped with the most care.

“Christmas is _tomorrow_ John, and I don’t have to be pleased by the fact that a would be peaceful evening is going to be disrupted by the presence of others mingling in our flat.” Sherlock grumbled. John rolled his eyes and moved to the kitchen to check on the food cooking there. Sherlock had mercifully cleaned the table of any and all experiments, and the body parts had been tucked away carefully or disposed of in preparation for the party.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to arrive, and she placed two lovingly wrapped boxes beneath the tree before kissing Sherlock warmly on the cheek.

“Happy Christmas dear.” she beamed, and Sherlock softened slightly.

“Happy Christmas Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said, offering her a small, real smile. Mrs. Hudson then swept into the kitchen and placed the tray of cookies she had been carrying onto the table.

“Happy Christmas John.” Mrs. Hudson smiled, giving him a kiss as well. John grinned and kissed her on the cheek in return. “Did you give him the scarf yet?” she whispered, her voice hidden by the clatter of the oven rack as John moved to take out the ham.

“No, not yet.” John said, feeling the first flutters of nervousness blossom in his stomach. The gift was full of meaning, John knew, and would probably not be interpreted as a completely platonic gesture by most of their other guests. Something in John screamed that it _wasn’t_ completely platonic, but he told that part to shut the hell up as he nabbed a cookie off the tray and scampered into the sitting room before Mrs. Hudson could smack it out of his hand.

Greg, Sally, and Anderson were the next to arrive, showing up together and looking a bit stressed.

“Hard day?” John asked, taking their coats and handing them each a beer.

“You’ve got no idea. We had a string of robberies a few hours ago, and we’ve only just caught the suspect.” Greg sighed heavily, rubbing beneath his eyes with his fingertips.

“Could’ve used Freak’s help, but even he needs a day off sometimes.” Sally said. Sally and Sherlock had come to a very good understanding after his return from the dead, and from that day on Sally had been much warmer to him. In return, Sherlock no longer pointed out her ‘obvious’ sexcapades with Anderson.

“I’m unfortunately going to have to agree with Sally on that.” Anderson grumbled. “The man was very good at covering his tracks. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was balding we wouldn’t have had any evidence at all.”

Sherlock perked up and looked at Anderson in surprise.

“He was losing his hair at the crime scenes?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, a few strands in every house. That was it, but it’s enough to get him with seeing as one of the houses also had a security camera.” Anderson said with a slight shrug.

“Good. You’re learning Anderson. Still an idiot, but you’re learning.” Sherlock said before standing up and swooping into his bedroom. He emerged with his violin case and placed it gently beside the sofa. Mrs. Hudson always insisted on Sherlock playing for Christmas, and Sherlock was never able to refuse her.

Molly was the last to arrive, and Greg swallowed roughly when she took off her coat to reveal a very slim cut sweater in a very flattering shade of emerald green. John grinned at his friends, who were very obviously smitten with each other. Neither of them had the guts to admit it though. John and Sally had a bet running as to who would speak up first. John had his money on Molly.

After a few hours of pleasant conversation, which even Sherlock eventually took part in, the group settled down to exchange gifts.

“Sherlock, you know the rules. No deducing what the gifts are.” John said seriously before handing out his gifts to everyone. Sherlock chuckled softly.

“Fine, but only because it’s Christmas.” Sherlock replied.

Once everyone had handed their gifts to the proper recipients, Mrs. Hudson pulled a name from a hat to decide who would open first.

“Greg!” she chirped, and Greg cheered triumphantly before setting his beer on the coffee table. He picked up John’s gift first.

“Excellent, I’ve been wanting to read this for ages!” Greg grinned, taking a copy of _The Mystery of Edwin Drood_ out of the bag. He rattled the bag and his hand dove in again, emerging with a bottle of paracetamol. _FOR SHERLOCK CASES_ was written across the label with black marker. The group burst into laughter, and even Sherlock had to crack a grin at the joke.

Molly was next, and she received a very nice new set of examination tools in a red leather case from Sherlock. She squealed with glee and flung her arms around the detective’s neck. He patted her awkwardly on the back, unsure of how to respond to the sudden burst of affection.

After Molly went Anderson. He shook his head and laughed as he unwrapped a copy of _Forensics for Dummies_ from Sherlock, which was accompanied by a new magnifying glass and a gift card to one of the nicer restaurants near New Scotland Yard. He blushed when he read the accompanying card. _Because Donovan would like it if you took her on a proper date_ had been written in Sherlock’s handwriting on the cardboard packaging. Anderson and his wife had gotten a divorce the year after Sherlock’s fall, but Anderson had been biding his time with Donovan.

Finally, Sherlock and John were the only ones left. They flipped a coin, and John won. He settled in his chair and cracked his knuckles before turning to the small pile sitting in front of him. He picked up the gift from Mrs. Hudson first. It contained a new pair of gloves, which John had desperately needed. Donovan and Anderson had chipped in to buy John a new stethoscope, which was surprisingly nicer than his previous one. The previous one had been accidentally broken two cases prior, and John hadn’t had the money to purchase a new one yet. Greg gave John season six of Doctor Who on DVD, along with 10’s sonic screwdriver. John let out a happy laugh and Sherlock bit back a groan.

“You aren’t supposed to support bad habits Lestrade!” Sherlock teased, and John scowled at him.

“Oi, you’re just mad because Doctor Who is the only show where you _couldn’t_ predict the end of one episode.” John said, pointing at him. Another chorus of laughter filled the room.

Then it was Sherlock’s turn to open his gifts. John’s palms suddenly began to sweat, and he watched anxiously as Sherlock opened the newest forensic pathology textbook, a highlighter, an envelope, and a stamp from Molly, a thick file of cold cases from Greg, a rather large book on Jack the Ripper from Donovan, and a few new violin pieces from Anderson (Sherlock and Anderson had also made amends after Sherlock’s returned, and had actually formed a slight bond over their love of classical music…Anderson played cello), and a new, rather large cork board (which John had hidden in his bedroom) from Mrs. Hudson. It had a black and silver sign attached to the top which read CASE WALL in nice block print. Sherlock’s eyes brightened the most, however, when he picked up the last box, which was from John. John sucked in a sharp breath, and their eyes locked as Sherlock tore the paper off of the box. The lid fell to the ground and Sherlock’s jaw dropped slightly as he lifted the scarf from the box. It was very similar in style to his old scarf, albeit a bit longer and there was the occasional strip of charcoal grey running through the blackish-blue. He swallowed roughly and ran his fingers along the material.

“John…this was…you made this?” Sherlock asked quietly. The room went still, and for some reason everyone knew that something significant was about to happen.

“Erm…yeah…when you told me that your gran gave you your old scarf, I knew I couldn’t just _buy_ a replacement, so I thought maybe…if you don’t like that’s alright I mean…” John stammered, his face flushing crimson. Sherlock’s thin lips twitched into that small, just-for-John smile and he took it out of the box before putting it on in the same way he had put on his old scarf. The sharp contrast of the blue against his skin was lovely, and for some reason the particular shade of grey that John had threaded through it made Sherlock’s bright, ethereal eyes pop more than the old one had.

“It’s perfect.” Sherlock said simply before picking up the box that contained his gift to John. It was traditional that they exchanged the last gifts of the night. John accepted it with slightly shaking fingers; he was still nervous that Sherlock would reject the scarf later. He tore off the burgundy paper and opened the box to find a leather-bound thesaurus with an envelope poking out from the cover. John took the envelope out and opened it to find a contract from Athena Books.

“Sherlock…what…what is this?” John asked quietly, holding up the contract.

“I have an old acquaintance that works for that publishing company. He wants to publish your writing John.” Sherlock explained softly. John swallowed roughly.

“He wants…he wants to publish the book?” John asked. After Sherlock’s fall, John had spent the first year and a half writing out every single case that he had ever worked with Sherlock in excruciating detail. He had longed to publish it, but nobody had wanted to publish it. After Sherlock had returned and been proven innocent, John went back to working with Sherlock and had abandoned his dream of having the book published.

“Yes. I brought him the first few chapters and he said that he couldn’t put it down. Said it was even better than the blog.” Sherlock said proudly. John caressed the front page of the contract, and then their eyes locked again.

In a sudden, swift motion, both of them stood, moved around the coffee table, and embraced each other tightly. After a moment, Sherlock pulled back from the hug just slightly and stared at John for a brief period of time. Then he leaned down and captured John’s lips in a warm, chaste kiss. John’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he returned the kiss happily. Anderson and Donovan stared in shock, Molly sniffled happily, and nobody saw Greg hand Mrs. Hudson twenty quid.

“Happy Christmas John.” Sherlock whispered, breaking away and brushing his nose against John’s.

“Happy Christmas Sherlock.” John replied, and they kissed again, completely oblivious to their friends as they enjoyed their first few moments of what would be a very happy, lifelong relationship. 


End file.
